Her name is Jasmine

A new mother has brought her baby into the house, teary eyed from a seeding birth. She lives here alone, banished by the shadow of death from seeing her husband again. Now their child, she holds in her arms. A reminding grief.

She comes home to meet a grim silence, longing for the life the shadow robbed of her, to introduce her child to an empty shell, just as the hollow of her heart.

‘The baby’s room’ she thinks as she coldly meets a chair by the crib. She rocks gently, in a somber rhythm, swaying with warm hands.

At times like this she thought the calmness of presence, of the first moment she held her baby in her home, would sprout and everlasting love, but she felt ,now, only blight.

Her mind was blank even as she saw the soul of her child’s eyes.

In the evening, her grief grew her need for tar wrapped in bleach. The past months without her love stopped her cares of smoking pregnant, and the night hours hit her the hardest.

She set her baby down in the crib, without a stir or cry, and slowly walked down the stairs. Brandy, her new love, would call to her from the cupboard. It was her husband’s.

She sat on the sofa with her bottle and cigarette, wafting fumes throughout the house, and lamented her sorrows for all to hear.

The first light of morning was cold and agonising. When she felt so close to the dark embrace of death, she was dragged back into sobriety, away from the beauty, Brandy, and her sleeping pills.

She stumbled up to the crib and changed the baby’s nappy, and just as she was done, she vomitted a mouthful of brandy up and had to start over, this time with the innocent, confused cries of a dirty baby.

She sat on the rocking chair to feed after she’d cleaned up in the shower, with a headache lingering, not paying much attention to her baby suckling at her breast. When, the smell of brandy came wafting at her nose, from the infant’s burp. The smell alone made her crave a cigarette.

She slipped out of the room to quickly smoke and when she opened the pack there were only six left ‘What?’ She thought to herself ‘This was a new pack!’ But she had been drinking the night before, so payed no more mind to it.

That evening she cried downstairs, once again, like a newborn child, but her newborn slept upstairs without a sound. Drunken, she climbs the steps and sits in the rocking chair, to sleep by the closest thing she had left of her husband.

But in that night she is disturbed. She had taken her sleeping pills but still she was awoken, or perhaps hallucinating.

When, in the shadows, she sees a man stepping with a slender, elongated lunge into her baby’s crib. She tries to scream but cannot move.

Her mind gives in to darkness.

She jolts awake and stumbles over to the crib where she finds a perfectly peaceful baby on the cusp of waking, rosy cheeked and yawning. ‘It was just a dream.’ She said, smiling, and swayed them together in her arms.

After feeding, she exchanged a dirty nappy for a clean one, but noticed green in the old one ‘Wow. I hadn’t imagined it to be this bad.’ she said to herself but saw streaks of white and red as she wiped. ‘Fuck.

‘I’m sorry darling. Mummy didn’t mean to hurt you.’ She whimpered and cried as she cradled her child, tight.

She thought of what her husband might have said to calm her down, but couldn’t bring herself to say one nice thing about herself. She stood cuddling her baby until the inevitable urge for tobacco made itself known.

She went to open the pack. Again, there were some missing, just three left now. She knew she definitely had not finished the entire pack in two days. Had someone been stealing them? The man? She wondered.

When, suddenly a violent coughing came from the crib. Her eyes darted over. She couldn’t believe what she was thinking, but rummaged through the covers and even the baby’s little pockets. But, of course, found nothing.

She was ashamed at even thinking it. That her smoking had grown an addiction in her child who somehow stole her cigarettes, she felt ridiculous, but stepped outside to smoke this time.

During the day she read up on sleep paralysis and knew that was what she had experienced last night. She made herself a tea, plain without alcohol, for the first time in a long time.

The evening came around quickly, as it was winter after all, and she slept by her baby, taking her pills to keep away her mind’s wandering.

Though it was only a nightmare, she still took caution to lock the door and window to the room.

The void of her unconscious thoughts consumed her, and a seemingly perpetual darkness swallowed. But it was not long until she stirred awake again. Her vision was darker than when she closed her eyes, and in that darkness she heard a sound.

Rattling, quietly rattling, was the lock on the door. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but it kept jingling, like a cat was flicking it. Her body let out a single, uncontrolled cough, and at that moment the rattling stopped.

She couldn’t dare to open her eyes, to face the noise in the pitch black. But she did, and in the silhouette of the deepest shadow she saw the man squatting by the door.

He stares at her. She tries to get up, but cannot move. She must endure his gaze.

Her sight blurs back into the blankness of slumber, when she thought she saw him crawling at her. Her mind panicked but was subdued by the pills.

She slept through the night, and was awoken by a tantalising waft of brandy. She yearned for its sweet kiss before she even opened her eyes. But when she did open her eyes, she was already holding her baby.

‘Oh! Darling. Mummy forgot to put you to bed.’ she said and opened the curtains ‘Good morning!’

She looked at the green eyes of her child, so similar to her husband’s, as she heard a faint ‘Mama.’

‘Mama?’ she jumped with joy ‘Mama? Did you say Mama?’ and saw the brightest smile in the brightest morning sun.

‘I’m your Mama, Ha!’

That day she had a skip in her step, she went about the house cleaning and decorating, singing ‘Mama, Mama’.

She didn’t even crave a cigarette in the morning, or after her hard work. Nor did she pour a brandy.

In the evening she sat, cuddled on the sofa, when she made another tea. When she came back into the room, her newborn, who was left on a throne of soft blankets, had wriggled onto the floor and began crawling. She nearly dropped her tea.

‘How on earth-‘ she said but could only watch in amazement, as this less than week-old baby was crawling around the floor. ‘I don’t understand- How is this possible?’ she said to herself ‘I suppose babies grow fast’

She continued to watch her baby crawl until the night came. ‘Alright, bedtime.’ she said and took them both upstairs to bed, but still her baby would crawl around the crib ‘You’re just a bundle of energy, aren’t you! Well, Mummy isn’t. You’ll have to save that for the morning.’ she said and went to the door ‘Goodnight, sweetheart.’ and from the timid darkness of the crib she again heard a faint ‘Mama.’

She turned back and sat in the chair, without her pills. At first, her insomnia hit hard, but thinking about spending her life with her baby comforted her like never before. She slept until she was, again, awoken.

The baby had somehow gotten out of the crib and was crawling around the room. She turned on the light and knelt down, but as she reached, the baby’s arms and legs began to elongate and stretch.

She stepped back as her baby continued to grow ‘What the fuck?’ she shouted and fell backwards, knocking the chair over.

The baby’s torso and legs cracked and contorted, into that of a grown man’s body, and it crawled at her clumsily, without control of its new grown legs. It said in a tired man’s whisper ‘Mama.’ and reached his hand out to her as he slept on the carpet.

Her mouth was wide open, her jaw would not return to normal for at least an hour. She sat and stared for what felt like an endless stream of countless nights, until her body gave up, and she fainted.

As she woke up, she knew she was fine, her nightmares were getting worse but she was safe. But when she opened her eyes she saw the man lying on the floor with an extended hand.

She silently gasped but covered her mouth, and quickly tip-toed out of the room. She hid in the brandy cupboard and cried, but slapped herself to wake up. She was awake, and her baby had truly become fully grown overnight.

‘My baby.’ she said, whimpering. ‘Snap out of it!’ she slapped herself again.

She was just about to peek out of the door when she heard the heavy crawling of a grown man pass by the cupboard. She covered her mouth before she screamed and quietly ran upstairs when he was gone, to check the crib. There was no baby. That man was actually her baby.

‘What am I going to do?’ She thought, but she was still a mother ‘Calm down, babies are supposed to grow quickly. Your’s just so happened to have grown the fastest…. in human history. And against biology.’ She calmed herself and tried to accept it. She sighed and left the room to go downstairs.

She saw her baby, crawling around with a big smile, coming towards her. She backed up as he got closer ‘Mama.’ he said in a harsh whisper.

‘I suppose…. you are my child. I can’t neglect you, even if you scare me.’ she said and squatted down and stroked his hair. He was calm, innocent, and he smiled at the sight of his mother.

‘I’m not sure how this is supposed to work.’ and at those words she realised she still has to care for him as one cares for a baby, though he was a man.

She had to change him. She nearly vomitted.

After the abhorrent act she put herself through, for the sake of her child, she needed a brandy. She went to the kitchen, followed by the man-child, and she tried to sit him at the dining chairs, but he fell off and cried. So, she crafted an adult-sized baby seat from pillows and tape and left him sitting there.

She returned with a stench on her breath.

She put some eggs on the frying pan and plated them in front of him, but he wouldn’t eat it. She cut up some fruit, but he wouldn’t eat it, even when she mashed it up. She poured a glass of milk from the fridge. Unfortunately, he did not drink it. ‘Oh, God.’ she said ‘I can’t- I can’t do this. Oh, God, help me.’

Her child was hungry, and he cried for what felt like hours, as did she. But she gave in. She brought him down and sat on the floor.

She removes her shirt, and her bra. He lays in her arms, cradled, and feeds.

She can feel his stubble on her skin, his dry mouth on her breast and she cringes, recoiling but without vomitting.

When he was full she burped him and wiped her milk from his beard. She could only laugh at the ridiculousness, and her disgust.

She sat on the sofa and stared blankly for a while.

The evening came and she needed a cigarette. The immense craving for it overwhelmed her and she bolted outside, to get away. He follows her outside. ‘What are you doing out here? Go inside.’ she said waving her cigarette as he reaches for it ‘Ah, ah! Not for babies!’ but he kept reaching, and she realised she was being overpowered, by her baby. He snatched it from her and started to smoke it and then dropped it on the floor.

She was in shock, she knew she was alone with a man with the brain of an infant, but now she was scared. He was stronger than her. She picked up the rest of her cigarette and smoked it, as he crawled back inside.

When she went back in, a familiar smell came from the kitchen. He was drinking brandy straight from the bottle. ‘Wh-what?’ she said and just stood watching him. He then opened the fridge and started to eat anything and everything in there. ‘Hey!’ she shouted ‘I thought you didn’t like anything else. I-I-I-‘

He ignored her and stuffed himself until he burped. ‘Mama.’ he said as he turned back to her. She couldn’t believe it, but maybe his appetite grew as quickly as he did, she thought. ‘Yeah, yeah.’ she said, defeated, and laid down on the sofa. She was exhausted.

He crawled up to her and tried to pull up her top ‘You just ate, how are you still hungry?’ she said ‘Hey! Settle down, you’re hurting Mummy. I’m sorting them now. Will you just wait?’

But he pulled her top more aggressively and ripped it, bruising her where it ripped ‘Fuck!’ she shouts and stood. But he grabbed her, hard.

‘I’m not hungry.’ he said, and nothing more.

Her eyes widened. She tried to crawl away, to scurry and kick him back, but it wouldn’t work. He kept coming at her, with primal eyes. She bashed the top of his head but he struck her back with a hammer fist. She was still conscious, but the blow made her sick, and dizzy.

He rips her trousers as she screams. Her legs, still squirming, grabbed by his horrible strength and he opens them. He grabs her waist as her vision slips from her grasp, she succumbs to the dark.

When she wakes, there is a horrid stench in the air. He is asleep on top of her. She wriggles out from under him as she feels it slip out of her. She crawls over to the table and balls up under it. She cries quietly, as to not wake him.

Suddenly, he stirs, and she runs to the kitchen. When he wakes up, she is stiff over him, half naked, holding a knife. His eyes turn to fire and he crawls faster than she could see, out of her reach.

She turns and watches as his arms crack and contort, darkening. He grows into something inhuman, like a demon, a dark demon.

‘You- you’re not my baby!’ she says and swings the knife at him. He cries a mixture of an infant’s scared cry, and a deep, breathy shriek as she just nicks him with the blade. He charges at her.

He throws her at the wall, but she does not drop the knife, though many of her bones are broken. With a strong breath she screams ‘Where is my baby?’

A painful silence struck, and the demon’s belly opened. As if it were pregnant, she could see her baby’s soul, as she once saw in its eyes.

In her husband’s voice the demon spoke low. ‘I ate her.’

Her name was Jasmine.